


A Fit of Temper

by whiterabbit1613



Series: The October 13 [8]
Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: Fiction, Flash Fiction & Vignettes, Gen, Humor, Literature, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-28
Updated: 2010-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-12 13:46:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiterabbit1613/pseuds/whiterabbit1613
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>First bit of Master and Commander fic!</p><p>I apologize for the terrible attempt at 19th century sea-officer speak, haha.</p><p>Stephen Maturin and Jack Aubrey belong to Mr. Patrick O'Brien.</p>
    </blockquote>





	A Fit of Temper

**Author's Note:**

> First bit of Master and Commander fic!
> 
> I apologize for the terrible attempt at 19th century sea-officer speak, haha.
> 
> Stephen Maturin and Jack Aubrey belong to Mr. Patrick O'Brien.

The October 13: Day 8  
Fandom: Master and Commander  
Prompt: alcohol  


 

     Stephen had always threatened it; Jack had always taken his tone for joking, however, or at the very least believed that Stephen understood what a bad idea it would be to carry through. He knew Stephen felt very strongly on the subject (the incident of the sloth had made everything absolutely crystal clear), but apparently he had not understood the _extent_.

     Now, however, he was several steps closer to comprehension. Stephen had flown into the cabin mere moments earlier, and without so much as a "good afternoon" had begun piling any item of furniture he was capable of moving in front of the door. He was making an assay at shifting the bow chaser when Jack, who had been watching bemusedly, finally said, "My dear doctor, whatever is the matter?"

     "Never trouble yourself, joy," Stephen said, his usually pallid face suffused with an unhealthy looking red. "It is but a misunderstanding and surely will pass."

     Jack stood up as the first fists began banging against the door. "Is it a mutiny? This has always been such a happy ship –"

     Stephen leaned back against the table (jammed beneath the door knob) and loosened his neckerchief. "Oh no, oh no," he said. "Nothing of the sort. I am in hopes that you were joking when you said throwing the grog overboard would cause such an event."

     The pounding against the door was becoming steadily more insistent, and was now joined by a chorus of angry voices and a tremendous pounding from the deck above their heads. Jack held himself perfectly still, taking deep breath after deep breath. "I am afraid," said he, "that you may yet drive me to the apoplexy of which you so often speak."

     Stephen looked alarmed. "Jack, are you feeling quite alright?"

     Jack, in fact, felt rather faint, but he wasn't sure if it was from fear or anger. He gingerly sat down on the locker across the room and looked at Stephen woozily. "You never threw the grog overboard?"

     Stephen at least had the grace to look sheepish. "A rather uncharacteristic fit of temper overtook me, I fear. It is not something I should have done were I entirely sane." _Or if I hadn't thrown my laudanum overboard last night,_ he added silently.

     There was total silence in the cabin for several moments, aside from the continual racket from above and below. Finally, Jack looked up from where he had buried his face in his hands. "You do realize they can dismantle the wall itself, if they feel so inclined."

     "Ah yes," said Stephen, who, despite having seen the ship cleared for action hundreds if not thousands of times, had not thought of this detail.

     Jack sighed. "Let's see if we cannot get ourselves out of this predicament, then."


End file.
